


Fix him

by redhoneyplease



Category: Bandersnatch - Fandom, Black Mirror: Bandersnatch
Genre: D slur, I worked so hard on this, Murder TW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-25 00:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17714336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoneyplease/pseuds/redhoneyplease
Summary: Peter just wants his son fixed, but the only person who can help is too broken to fix anyone but herself.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> haha I hope y’all enjoy this!! I have worked sooO long on it and I hope it shows!!

“Please, please tell me you can fix him.”  
She remained silent.  
Complying to the deed she didn’t even expect to be assigned to her.  
Her throat seemed to clench as he begged, she knew he meant well but the way this father seemed to hate, yet simultaneously love all at once; it strangled her. Her diaphragm tightened in her chest and her toes curled tensely in her shoes; how was she to agree to something she couldn’t do?  
“Please,”  
He pleaded,  
“Fix my son.”  
She slapped on a forced grin and nodded, realising she’d forgotten to even accompany her non-verbal response with a verbal reply.  
His voice seemed to lower an octave, the gravity of the situation becoming more and more apparent. She could feel her heart echo in her chest, screaming at her to run the absolute fuck away.  
“I don’t want my son growing up gay.”  
In her severe state of discomfort, in front of both her client and her client’s father; her filter seemed to loosen.  
“Mr. Butler, please do not speak to me in that tone. I am a psychiatrist, not anything else. I am not expected to fix your son’s homosexuality as it is not part of my training as a psychiatrist. That is not my job.”  
She hissed back; her words lined with a venom that caused Stefan to subconsciously take a step back; it was obvious that the dynamic of the room changed from a mezzo-piano to a fortissimo, a sickening shockwave of immediate change.  
Her fault. Her fault.  
The father appeared shocked, an expression that formed into confusion but then re-emerged into a deep, bubbling anger that she was all too familiar with.  
“You are going to fix him. This is therapy. It’s a mental illness; it can’t be that hard,”  
His expression didn’t seem to weaken as his rage spilt out through his words.  
“It’s your job.”  
She opened her lips to try and formulate an improvised reply, but was cut off by-  
“We’ll be seeing you next week. Good day, Dr. Haynes.”  
He mumbled something to Stefan as he forced his way out of her office.  
Stefan shot her a glance of pure disappointment and betrayal.  
She didn’t know what she had expected to come of this.  
-  
The dead silence in the air was uncomfortable and seemed to crawl underneath her clothes and into her nerves. It was unsettling, so unsettling that the neurons in her body had almost chosen to make her scratch her neck with a force that left the layer of skin only moments away from tearing open and beginning to cry blood.  
Why was she standing there? It had happened. Apparently she was now going to have to induce her own conversion therapy for Stefan; who, quite honestly, was not mentally stable enough to take that kind of torture.  
Why must one hate so intensely that they mistake the very thing hurting their family; for love?  
-  
“So.. you’re going to.. fix… ..me?”  
Stefan choked, a bit bewildered. His concern seemed to grow with every passing moment.  
The heart he felt inside him was pounding, knocking on his chest so hard he felt as though the door would open and it would come tumbling out, onto the floor for everyone to see.  
If everyone was only, well, Dr. Haynes, of course.  
-  
An amused smile arose on her lips, only furthering Stefan’s genuine terror but allowing her to confront the realisation and she didn’t need to fix him. It wasn’t her job.  
Her words seemed to melt together like honey when she finally replied,  
“Stefan, I’m not going to fix you.”  
A deep breath was exhaled on Stefan’s part.  
“I can’t fix something that’s not broken.”  
As the words left her lips in such a fashion that made her want to begin to cry,  
She realised that Stefan had already began to sob quite softly in his chair.  
“Stefan,”  
She spoke, her voice lowering in volume, almost a whisper; trying not to shatter his already delicate facade with the words she knitted together.  
He dug his face into his hands as he sobbed; pure emotion escaping at a rapid but controlled pace. His guilt; his relief; his anger; his sadness; his fear and his-  
“Stefan, it’s okay.”  
“No, it’s not.”  
He lifted his head from his hands and looked her right in the eyes, a look he reserves for situations that even he can’t properly give a definition for.  
“Stefa-“  
“My dad, he, he- he doesn’t want a son who’s…”  
His fist clenched as the words crawled from his lips;  
“…gay.”  
He began to cry again; more messily this time. He tried to wipe the tears before they finished their race to his cheeks.  
Needless to say, the tears? They won.  
-  
Haynes sat in the stained silence, thinking; thinking. Trying to piece together a proper reply. But it seemed that her impulsive words strung together better than her thought-out ones did.  
“Would he rather a son who’s dead?”  
She didn’t even bother to look Stefan in the eye when she spoke those words.  
Stefan’s posture quickly neatened in the bout of fear and apprehension that stung him in the moment,  
“I-I, I don’t think so…”  
He trailed off, hopping on his swift train of thoughts without looking back.  
The train was put at a halt when he added with a dip of his head,  
“Why would I be dead?”  
She took a breath and readjusted herself in her chair,  
“Stefan,”  
“I’m- I’m listening.”  
“If I made a scene about him asking me to fix you, and I threatened legal action; anything along those lines, you would’ve ended up being sent to conversion therapy or something of the sort,”  
Her eyes watered, becoming numb. Stefan opened his mouth to interrupt and let her know-  
“And if you, if you…”  
Why was she sobbing?  
She had no reason to sob.  
She used her sleeve as a portable tissue to drain her eyes, stopping her monologue.  
“If you were.. to end up there, I don’t think your father would get you back.”  
Her tone dripped of a truth that Stefan couldn’t, and didn’t, want to learn.  
Stefan nodded- to show he now understood, possibly a little too well for his own liking.  
She blinked for a second to try and reset her eyes; similarly to how you would in a video game.  
Her words were harder now. Firm. They came with a hint of worry that was hidden under a layer of thick honesty.  
“Stefan, it’s not easy being gay. It’s something that we all need to learn to accept.”  
She bit her tongue, the infliction of a wave of sheer terror overcame her, Stefan was now going to /know/ and he was goin-  
“I… I know,”  
His voice softened by a great amount.  
“I just wish it wasn’t.”  
-  
“Remember; anytime you need me, just pick up the phone.”  
Her eyes still burned red from her mid-session cry. Which wasn’t scheduled, mind you.  
“You know the number.”  
-  
She watched Stefan leave, then watched the door slam shut.  
……..  
People really do seem to love to hate.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I kinda snapped huh. But yeah! Haha angst

“So, Stefan,”  
She adjusted her posture in the seat; subconsciously attempting to drive herself away from what was already shaping up to be a deeply uncomfortable conversation.  
“Would you like to talk about your father?”  
The psychiatrist seemed to be hyperaware of how the air in the room seemed to thicken with each passing breath.  
Stefan; the boy across from her seemed to invert his already concave posture even further upon the question being spoken; histrionically uncomfortable and desperate to leave.  
“I-I guess.. why does it matter? He’s fine.. I think.”  
Dr. Haynes tilted her head; attempting to convey that she’d really like him to keep talking. She couldn’t help but feel like a school counsellor trying to get through to a new child in need of help; unsure of what to say, yet completely sure at the same time, an desire to assist that feels so trenchant that you just cannot ignore it.  
“He cares about me… he just…”  
He inhaled a deep breath,  
“..He forgot how to love… me, at least.”  
Silence filled the empty crevices of the space; so prolonged and tight that even propping the lips open felt too much; a demand of dynamic strength that left both parties stale and stained with a lack of willpower so great that all they could do was awkwardly flicker glances; waiting for the other to respond,  
“What did your mother think of homosexuality?”  
Her voice was a little too mannered for the resting tone of the room.  
“I- I don’t know? She died when I was five…”  
“I know, but-“  
“I was five.”  
His hands began to shake; uneasily rattling from side to side, screaming at him to look and focus on the trembling terror that snaked through him; hissing all the whole. He didn’t even realise that Dr. Haynes was trying to snap him out of his trance until the volume of her call heightened by a mile.  
“Stefan!”  
Despite her volume, her voice still sounded the same. She wasn’t being hostile; she’s never hostile- at least from what he had seen.  
Her heart clattered in her chest, fully uncertain of what move to make on the chess board that is therapy; should she raise her voice and risk triggering a panic attack in Stefan? Or does she allow him to remain in his rising state of anxious trance that will also result in a panic attack?  
Both options lead to checkmate.  
“S-sorry..”  
She nodded at the apology; rephrasing her question, hoping that the easier wording would encourage a proper response, instead of just issuing a free trance that drove her into a real corner of pathways to take.  
“Did your father ever mention what your mother’s thoughts on homosexuality were?”  
The wording felt unnatural; forced. The look on Stefan’s face only conveyed a whirlwind of confusion as he tried to explain that, no, he never did.  
“No..”  
Haynes was now driven into another corner; she could either force a response, or move on. A quick decision that should probably be left to impulse; she’s risking another checkmate.  
“Alright, well…”  
She readjusts her posture in her seat nervously, adding to her own warped perception of the thick air in the room.  
“Has your father ever shown a distaste in homosexuality- prior to recent events, of course.”  
Stefan began to nod, his lips curling in. He opens his mouth to speak; but nothing comes out.  
“Stefan?”  
She leans forward, taking a brief glance at the clock; it’s not over for another half an hour. The room feels smaller than it should feel at this time. She’s been seeing Stefan for years; why is it now that he decides to stop participating properly?  
He opens his mouth and takes a breath,  
Haynes leans in further,  
“He..”  
“He..?”  
“He threatened to kill me if I turned out gay- he held up the a-ashtray we have lying about and gave me.. a lecture on how he felt,”  
At that, she felt herself press against the chair; her hands interlocking; firmly sitting in her lap.  
With pursed lips, she accepted defeat.  
The last checkmate.  
“Stefan… you, you realise how much gravity that holds, right?”  
“Y-yeah, I do. He just… he doesn’t like gay.. people, he wouldn’t- well, kill me.”  
She dipped her head, and stole a moment to close her eyes.  
The game was over.  
-  
The clocks metronomic ticks brought comfort when they finally ended the session that seemed to have done more harm than good.  
“Alright, well, you, you know the number,”  
Stefan gave her a soft nod; and surprisingly- a meek grin.  
-  
The door swung open, light cascading in within milliseconds; quickly being disrupted by the figure walking in.  
It’s him.  
“Stefan, we’re leaving.”  
“Sorry?”  
She breathes, she can already feel her heart picking up in her chest; her veins pulsing with a bad feeling that she can’t seem to shake. Her hands rattle in place, fingers fluttering around; desperately searching for relief from this inner panic that never fails to rise.  
“You,”  
The father looks at her and hisses between his teeth, stepping rapidly over towards the pair, pushing his son out of the way.  
He stands over her, looking uncomfortably close- she steps back without second thought, her fists clenching and relaxing so quickly she can only feel the immense sweat gripping in her palms. She’s terrified, she’s terrified, she’s terrified.  
She raises her lips to speak; but she can’t. Her voice box refuses to cooperate; tightening up and curling itself inwards. Her throat hurts. It hurts. It hurts.  
“You NEVER told me that you were a dyke!”  
With a condescending tone, his anger only grows. Pulsing and pulsing right in front of her. It’s like he’s making fun of her; picking apart her sexuality right in front of her and she can’t even do anything to stop it.  
She’s powerless. She’s lost her authority. The only thing giving her the upper hand.  
“Dad-”  
Stefan tries to intercept, failing miserably. His hands slip back into his pockets and he stands back, resuming a bystander position.  
Haynes takes notice, and a part of her feels betrayed. But after everything she’s said and done in the session, her anger is covered by a thick blanket of acceptance.  
She takes a breath, darting her eyes towards the father as the words leave her lips,  
“Mr. Butler, please do not speak to me in that tone. My sexual orientation has no real effect on my ability to be Stefan’s therapist. Quite frankly, you even asking me to engage in a practice that I am not trained for nor complying to do is bordering on a legal issue; if you continue to behave in this manner I will have no problems with taking further action against you for harassment,”  
She doesn’t even realise she’s beginning to take back her power in the dynamic, until Stefan’s father stammers a quick “W-what?”  
Impulsively, she replies a sharp, “You heard me.”  
The fathers face only contains confusion, a hint of worry- but a strange amount of acceptance.  
He stands up straight.  
“Thank you, Dr. Haynes.”  
A soft, but hurt response is given from the father as he hurries Stefan outside.  
What?  
She was expecting more, an escalation of events that she was half-aware was coming but somehow, somehow, they never came.  
-  
She has never been so confused by an interaction in her life.  
Is she going insane? She was there- she watched him throw a slur at her like it was nothing, she watched him loom over her with an expression of pure rage.  
No.  
-  
“Patricia! You’re back,”  
“Uh-huh,”  
Her girlfriend, Delilah, calls out from the kitchen when she returns to the flat she resides in, a strident sense of guilt lingering over her head from the day that had just passed. The guilt was beginning to eat her alive, first course: her relationship.  
“How was work?” Delilah speaks rather calmly, fluently, if there was a vocal equivalent to honey; it would be exactly her voice. It’s so soothing, yet rich. She can’t get enough of it.  
“Not.. the best,”  
Haynes responds, pausing to chuckle,  
“I got verbally berated by that boy’s father again for being gay, he somehow found out about us being in love,”  
Delilah sits up straighter, a growing look of confusion on her face.  
“Sorry, Patricia..”  
Her voice smoothes into a laugh,  
“I’ve never loved you?”


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> .... more questions than answers

“D-Delilah?”  
Haynes uneasily got up from her chair, anxiously grabbing at the corners of whatever furniture she could find, backing away slowly; as though she’d just encountered a snake that was ready to bite at any moment, unpredictable and dangerous.  
The shock seemed to ripple throughout the room in waves, hitting them with varying levels of extremity, although- it seemed to be hitting her harder.  
Delilah stood up, partly aware of what she was doing, but mostly feeling manipulated by a force she couldn’t place down. Her words seemed to spill out without them even meaning to do so, they crawled out of her lips with so much intent it seemed to throb, she was forced to speak even when she’d rather stay silent. But- truth be told, she didn’t get to decide when she wanted to speak or not.  
A guilt from her last sentence still continued to drill into her heart, she loved this woman, yet, -yet, she wasn’t even allowed to acknowledge that.  
The lack of control Delilah once had, seemed to disappear within moments.  
The weight that was once lifted off her shoulders fell back again with a hard thump.  
She tried to stop herself from sobbing in front of the woman who; should probably be crying after the past events.  
She couldn’t.  
“I’m, I’m s-sorry,”  
She sprinted as quickly as her legs could take her out of the room; and then shakily out the door, and then down the street; and…  
-  
Haynes surveyed the corners of the kitchen.  
She wasn’t sure what this space had become.  
Her hands tried to grip tighter on the kitchen bench, and as they did, the ache grew stronger. Her legs shook with such a force she could barely stand without feeling a need to collapse, her knees were going to give in without second thought. They had a mind of their own, yet demanded advice from the rest of her body.  
-  
The flat was empty,  
But cursed. The kind of curse that you need to have backstory to recognise; if someone new walked in, they wouldn’t feel it the same way she did.  
Suddenly, a phone rang out; the ring seemingly yelling out intently for someone to pick it up and answer.  
She inhaled a deep breath, almost choking on the air. Her lips felt numb. Her eyes were numb. She was numb. Her body was now just one big giant being of numbness.  
It took her a moment to fully process that-  
Hang on,  
The home phone doesn’t ring like that.  
Walking into the narrow hallway caused the ring to echo more, only leading to it drilling into her ears further.  
It dug into her ears so deep she didn’t even realise that she was in a trance; following the ring as though it was being played specifically to lure her in.  
-  
The discovery of the home phone only gave her the anti-climatic understanding that she’d mixed up the ringtone of the office phone, and her home phone.  
Her hands hesitantly picked up, immediately hearing the words spoken by a familiar voice over the line.  
“Delilah?”  
Panic almost instantly surged through her, pulsing and pulsing with such a rage that she threw the phone away from her ear, taking a moment to breathe, and breathe and breathe and breathe and- her lungs clenched and her throat started to throb. Her tongue curled, and she slowly hovered the phone to her ear again.  
It wouldn’t go any further, the cord was at its limit.  
“Y-yes?”  
She purposely tried to heighten her pitch, attempting to pass as the woman she called her.. her  
girlfriend? Should she still use that title?  
The line went silent for a moment.  
Her heart began to pound against her chest again. She was half convinced that the organ would give way and she’d find herself collapsed on the floor in seconds, but then- then she heard a cough. Followed by a statement that was supposed to come off as a demand,  
“You need to stop Haynes, she’s- she’s getting a little too upbeat,”  
“I…”  
“Delilah, are you feeling alright?”  
“Y-Yes..”  
“You don’t sound right-“  
Her heart picked up again. Her cheeks flushing red in apprehension.  
“Wait,”  
She held her breath-  
“This is Patricia, isn’t it?”  
…………. ……..  
She slammed the phone back onto the dock, staring at the phone. Her brain rapidly trying to properly process and understand the information it had just been fed.  
Her eyes fell closed, guilt pulsing out and down her cheeks, pure fear began to bubble inside her, burning on the cortisol that her veins breathed. The hormone becoming a lifeline, a desperate plea that her body begged for a response to; her vocal chords tangling and turning so fast that they begin to flame. She’s burning alive - but inside. Inside.  
The flame flickered, intensely and at such a temperature that upon looking in one of the hallway’s mirrors, she saw her forehead dance with sweat in the awful rays casted by the overhead light.  
The second course that her guilt was going to eat up had now arrived; her stability.  
There was a severe lack of things she could do- Delilah had left, she’d just started crying and left.  
Delilah was not an emotional person.  
At least, until today.  
The phone began to ring again- she picked it up lightly, while doing so, her back slid down the wall awkwardly, until she fell into a seat.  
“Patricia- your son-”  
Was all she could catch before the phone cord snapped- from how far she pulled it.  
Son?  
She’s never had a son.  
Just- Just recalling those last words brought a chill to her spine, it curled around it and breathed cold air onto it in such a motion she shivered; her nervous system freezing over, going numb.  
She bit her lip- too hard, too hard, god, now it’s sore.  
For some reason, she felt compelled to ride back to the office. Start the day early. Where else was she to go?  
-  
It’s almost midnight.  
She’s cycling her way back to her office- in a jacket that’s way too large for her, one she’ll most likely overheat in - if she’s not careful.  
A jacket- that’s not hers.  
Right. This jacket’s Delilah’s.  
This jacket is Delilah’s.  
It’s cold. Even though she’s mostly warm, the weather is nibbling at her fingertips and curling them doesn’t do much. It’s very cold.  
Delilah loved the cold.  
Shaking her head as she continued to cycle, shaking away all the thoughts she didn’t need. She’s fine. She’s fine. She’s fine.  
Delilah. Delilah,  
Delilah, Delilah.  
Her eyes take a glance downwards, and as she does; the realisation sets in.  
She never rides to work.  
This is Delilah’s bike.  
Delilah can’t drive, she- she never learnt how to, she used to ride her bike everywhere. Everywhere. Delilah is everywhere.  
Everywhere.


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WORKED SO SO HARD ON THIS BITCH. highkey trigger warning for mild violence & death, so stay woke and don’t read if you will get triggered by those themes! Take care of yourselves and I hope the last part of this fic isn’t too sad.  
> Take care 💗

Haynes- she’s back. Back in the flat that still lingers with a foul air, an air that’s cursed. Her lungs seem to tense with each breath,  
The office wasn’t right today. Everyone looked at her funny- even the clients she tried to help refused comfort. It was though she breathed discomfort; her being turning to a yarn ball of anger, sadness, and confusion; too easy to unravel and difficult to put together again.  
Her eyes barely remained open, they had been sewed together with exhaustion and painted with deprivation.  
Nothing had been right since she returned- no, since last night. The world had fallen on its head and smashed open directly in front of her, and she wasn’t even allowed to catch a breath of cold air before she was told to clean it up. 

She found herself waltzing into Delilah’s room without even thinking about it; standing in the doorway and looking at her room; the dead plants in the corner - near her bed, she refuses to throw them out. The way her curtains whistle in the wind, hanging onto the gusts of wind that sneak in through the windows; she refuses to close them as well. The awful clutter on the floor that reminds Haynes of a teenager who just hit puberty, unwilling to clean it all up. It’s a mess,  
_It’s the mess she fell in love with._  
The posters on the wall, ripped at the edges from the lack of proper care that Delilah gave them. The closet she never left unlocked, the one thing she cared about. Delilah put a lock on the door about 5 years ago; she never explained it.  
She never bothered to ask.  
Perhaps, if she did, Delilah would’ve never left.  
Maybe Delilah would still love her.  
Maybe.  
Maybe.  
Maybe.  
Swallowing as hard as she could didn’t seem to stop her throat twisting and turning- closing off, restricting, stopping, god; fluctuating between throbbing with an intensity she couldn’t even properly describe, nor explain- Delilah had truly _taken over_ her life to such an extent it was as though there was a part of her that had been torn away, ripped; leaving only a jagged line in its wake. Screaming for recognition, but she couldn’t hear it. It was too far away, Delilah, you’re too far away.  
Please come back.  
Please.  
The overly large display of her hairspray cans uneasily watched Haynes move around; an eye; a constant hawk-eye that she couldn’t seem to shake. It washed back memories of Delilah- Delilah.  
Delilah.  
She threw her head back and hesitated in her step, surveying the ceiling absently before allowing the embrace of darkness to encompass her vision.  
Something- something that left a bad taste on her tongue continued to nag her, itch her hands to rip the _fucking_ closet open. Intrusively demanding the knowledge and split-second wave of relief that comes with finding out information you shouldn’t know- a wash of pleasure but a sting of pain.  
She found herself pulling at the doorknob, an addictive surge of anger forcing her to grip as tightly as she could, obsessively taunting the doors with her own rush of adrenalin. Her heart screaming with an emotion so intense all she could do was go along for the ride; hoping to hell that she didn’t accidentally destroy everything, further.  
The doorknob didn’t seem to budge; and her arms fell to her sides, losing their tension, but aching all the same.  
She glanced toward the lock; it wasn’t stock-standard, it appeared like a calculator, a static display of nothingness. Below, it was complimented with a keypad.  
Her hand brushed over it, attempting to, well, she really wasn’t sure what to do with it.  
The movement caused it to make a noise- she jumped back, frightened and now more delighted with apprehension than she was originally.  
It lit up with a screen of noise that hurt the eyes to view, three bars that flickered in and out of focus.  
Above them, only one word could be seen.  
‘Passcode?’

All she could come up with was the first three letters of Delilah’s name, a credit to her steadily increasingly loss of stability in herself, all she could really, process at all was Delilah- she’d lost herself in the woman she thought loved her.  
D E L.  
Shakily inputting them into the keypad, the letters beeped with a tone that only involuntarily added to the unsettling tension in the air.  
Surprisingly, the screen went an intrusive hue of green, piercing her retina from where it sat. She swiftly turned away from it, a panic and blur of colour.  
The door softly smiled open with a **click,**  
And that’s when she found it.  
The television, the tapes, Delilah had it all- but, why?  
Why was it hidden? Why was it locked? Why did she care so mu-  
‘PACS - program and control study’  
The television lit up, and all she saw staring back at her with tired eyes was, was,  
_herself?_  
This, version of herself, it was hard to process, biting her tongue, she brought herself to avoid looking away,  
But really, really, the one thing she couldn’t answer was why this recording of herself had her so hooked, so, _enticed._  
All she could do was listen.  
“Are you going to explain what exactly is happening, Dr. Haynes?”  
The familiar voice spoke off screen, and she saw this version of herself awkwardly and uncharacteristically laugh, tinted with a pant of realisation that- this, this woman she was staring at- _was_ her.  
“Peter, please,”  
This projection of herself cleared her throat thoroughly.  
Haynes didn’t even realise that she was running her hands through her hair with such a force it began to hurt her scalp-  
“Back on topic, this is the most recent progress report on the program and control study. We have successfully induced trauma onto subject #284, this inducement was done a while ago, however we are only beginning to see results at this point in time. He has refused to talk about his mother, going so far as to running out of the room to avoid it. His brain is finally associating his mother with her death, and we are seeing the amygdala fire the alarm when she’s mentioned,”  
This- this woman on screen, she peered up, looking beyond the camera and mouthed an incomprehensible sentence to someone off screen.  
“To continue, wait- I just realised, subject #284 is my son, to avoid future clarification.”  
Her lips curved into a smile at the finale of her sentence,  
Haynes felt herself slowly pace backwards at these words- no, no, hang on- she’s, she’d forgotten about her **_OWN SON._ **  
A surge of guilt trapped her in her body; refusing to move, lockdown, lockdown, this is exactly what she had feared. Her guilt was now on its third course;  
**her life.**  
Her nails scratched down the side of her face, inching deeper into her skin, she was living a lie- very big one at that, her hands shakily melting down her cheeks and causing such extreme pain it felt as though she was losing her mind, this was not how things were supposed to go. It felt wrong. Her son? Stefan? Had she been giving therapy to her son all along without even realising? Oh my **GOD**

The woman on screen coughed, and continued.  
“However, recent events have led us to hand over the experiment to Delilah Chakrin, my partner, so, upon her conduction and request- my memory of this experiment will be removed and stored in one of the hard drives found out back. She will record further updates. I will no longer be apart of the ex-”  
Her attention to the words being spoken was immediately and intensely cut off by presumably, the front door being _SLAMMED._  
She remained still, her body paralysed, baptised in a water of pure fear that essences itself by freezing over in a matter of moments, a water of sadness, guilt, shame, every other feeling she felt hissing and overcoming her with nothing but force.  
Her limbs in shock, so lifeless and lost that even a call of recovery for them left them none the wiser,  
No words were spoken.  
Her ears could only listen to the footsteps that slowly approached Delilah’s room.  
The figure stood in the doorway, and observed her.

The look on Delilah’s face conveyed nothing but pity, sadness, a strident yet trenchant feeling that wrapped around her tongue and rendered her mute. Her eyes stared, circled with a shade of blue that seemed to blur as she blinked away any emotion.  
She blinked faster, faster, and immediately, streams of pure shock, frustration and shame begin to rapidly progress down her cheeks, leaving Haynes staring at her; fully unsure of what to do.  
Delilah softly coughed, and croakily spoke, “W-what are you watching?”  
“Why was this- In your closet?”  
Her tongue curled, and in sync with the finale of her sentence, she began to sob- her once paralysed limbs breaking free from their mould, loosening, unwinding, finally minimising the tension. The air collapsing in on itself and-  
“Patrici-“  
“I’m sorry, Delilah, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m **_SORRY!_ **  
Her vision became a blur, and all she could feel herself doing was with unweighted arms; stand up and feel around for one of the hairspray cans,  
Her hands gripped it as tightly as they could, and-  
“PATRICIA-?”  
Delilah gasped in the surrounding air, taken aback and baptised in a pool of pure shock, her left hand holding her right shoulder in pain, a throb, an ache, a feeling of pure **BETRAYAL** and _ANGER_ and-  
“DELILAH, I’m SORRY!”  
Her voice cracked as she applied her messily aimed final hits to the face, bloody- bruised,  
How did it come to this?  
“PATRICIA-“  
Was all Delilah could breathe in between her own ragged, shocked sobs,  
“I’m SORRY, I’m SORRY, I’m SORRY!”  
Haynes dropped the can of hairspray and-  
“Patric-ia,”  
Delilah choked, a frown wilting upon on lips,  
“I-I’ve _always_ loved- you,”  
Haynes came to her senses properly for the first time in the last 24 hours, and immediately began to pat her hands over Delilah’s cold face- her hands slowly picking up patches of the residue blood- and this, _this_ showed her-  
“Delilah,”  
Her voice had no emotion.  
She’d lost it.  
How had it come to this?  
-  
Delilah’s lifeless corpse lay on the floor, in, what was once Delilah’s bedroom.  
She was worryingly calm about this- she should be sad, she knew that. She knew that, the tape that the television had played ended-  
Going through the files, the files, so many of them, Delilah had kept track,  
Pulling out the file that was labelled from a few years back, she recited the words written in Delilah’s cursive handwriting to herself,  
“17.4  
I’m the new overseer of this experiment.  
I decided to request transferral.. because, Dr. Haynes, my partner- she’s strong, she’s kind, but she’s clearly not as strong as I am. I can’t stand listening to her weep each night after having a session with subject #284- otherwise known as his given name, ‘Stefan Butler’ for future reference, #284 is also her son.  
Although, PACS- the heads of the psychological department, they decided to- I don’t know what they did. I am no longer in control.”  
She didn’t react.  
She’s pretty sure that most of the emotional control centres in her brain are now fried. The nerves dead,  
long. gone.  
Was she supposed to feel resentment? Anger? Gratitude? There was nothing, her heart felt nothing. Her limbs are loose. The air is gone.  
She propped out another one of the files,  
“20.7  
Peter- another scientist, posing as Stefan’s father, decided that he was going to use fake homophobia to coerce Dr. Haynes into seeing Stefan more.  
I don’t know why, but, as much as I am enjoying this experiment, it feels like they’re torturing Haynes the most.”  
Short, straight to the point.  
She took another glance over to Delilah, and in the resentment she attempted to try and feel,  
she spoke, taking a breath and exhaling,  
“Delilah,”  
Her voice smoothed into stifled laugh,  
”I don’t love you anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s the final part! I hope this wasn’t too sad! Thanks for the support and expect more Haynes content soon.


End file.
